The Juvie King
by lightfaith0606
Summary: Duncan had said when he was in Juvie, Mike was Mal and he was running the place. How did Mike get into Juvie? Where did Mal come from? This story answers it all; Mal's origin, his coming of power, and how all he had worked for crumbled. Rated T for violence and mild language.
1. It all started a year ago

So, uh, hey! Name's Mari. I've watched Total Drama since first season and decided to write my first fic about it.  
>My favorite character's Mike; I know he's caused controversy, but I like him and his personas, especially Mal.<br>As you've read in the summary, this will be about how I think Mal ran the place to be "king". This is (sadly) non-canon or official, so don't take this story literally. I just created this after watching TDAS last year and thought I'd write it out finally.  
>I wanna warn you though, I haven't been on here for like four years, so excuse me if I'm out of touch or rusty at this.<br>Anyway, I hope you like this; I've got twists and turn planned for this story.  
>Hope you enjoy!<br>Read and review, please!  
><strong>DISCLAIMER! I DO NOT OWN TOTAL DRAMA! FRESH TV DOES!<strong>

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><p><span><strong>The Juvie King<strong>

**Chapter One**

"Why don't you take a seat? Make yourself comfortable."

He didn't remove his eyes from the interviewer's intense stare as he sat himself in the chair. He wasn't in the mood for this. He hated interrogations almost more than his cousins. Still, he needed this to release the experiences he suffered with everyone else during those months.

"Tell me; are you familiar with Prisoner 66532?"

His eyes widened suddenly, as if epiphany pierced his once content mind. The interviewer watched his pose stiffen to his body bending over the table.

"Who wants to know?"

"I assure you, I am merely collecting evidence for Prisoner 66532's… condition. The guards weren't as watchful on 66532's transformation and those who were eventually got attacked. The only true witness to his condition was you. So please, tell me, what happened to this prisoner throughout his detention?"

He was hesitant at first to speak. He knew this prisoner since day one. This guy, the more he hanged out with him, the more evident he transformed into one of the cruelest sociopaths he's ever encountered. And yet, he was one of his best rivalries yet. They've done much together, performing temporary truces and challenging the other just to provoke him…

He wasn't his best friend, though.

This young man manipulated and threatened him like everyone else in the detention center. He also had held him ransom and even placed him in situations where he would die, and Prisoner 66532 would not care. He battled tooth and nail for survival in the center, and eventually won the freedom from the tyrant. He got him kicked him out. He set him up. He dethroned him.

But he wasn't free; not from the experience.

The interviewee took a deep breath of courage, as though bracing himself for Prisoner 66532 to come up behind him.

"It all started a year ago…"

* * *

><p>It was a beautiful spring evening. New life dared to blossom through buds of flowers and small leaves of once bare trees.<p>

Fifthteen year old Mike hugged himself as if his life depended on it. He isolated himself from the other adolescents who were in the same vehicle as him. There were eight of them; young men who were much more intimidating than himself. Most of them bore a tattoo and a piercing or two. They were either grotesque or fairly muscular; compared to them, Mike was a toothpick surrounded by boulders. The vehicle they were in jumped, launching Mike against one of the men.

"You better watch where you're going, punk." He growled.

"S-Sorry, man! It… It won't happen again!"

He gave Mike and ugly glare.

"See you keep your word…"

He shoved Mike back into his corner. A couple of the passengers snickered while the rest either rolled their eyes or showed no interest. Mike merely frowned before hugging himself back into his fetal position.

It took all the strength inside him to not let his tears flow. He wanted to cry, but not from the shove he received. He was terrified for his fate.

He was on his way to Juvenile Detention.

The vehicle came to a halt, finally. The back doors swung open. Two men in uniform were waiting for the delinquents. The taller man pulled the delinquents out, the other one lining them up. They escorted the teens into the Detention Hall.

Inside there a lobby with a receptionist. She didn't look up from her paperwork as the men strolled by. They entered a door left of the hall where they were forced to face the wall. With their hands against the surface, the guards patted the bodies of the delinquents. Some fished out lighters and pocketknives. Mike felt the guard take his wallet.

"All personal items will be returned to you after you've served your sentence." Spoke on guard. "Your schedule is simple. Sleep, wake up, eat, learn, exercise, eat, socialize through recreation, eat, free time, and sleep. You break the rules, your sentence here extends. So if you wanna get outta here, I suggest you all behave like good boys. Make yourselves at home but I warn you, not everyone will be your best friend.

"With that said, you'll be escorted to your cells and later be given your registration numbers. You'll meet with your roommate when they get back from their exercise."

Mike felt a sudden tug and he was dragged out of the room, followed by the others. Down the hall they passed through large double doors. There were three stories of square, identical barred cells. It gave Mike chills imagining the chaos and yells the delinquents would create when they were full. And to think he would have to put up with six months of this…

Mike noticed the majority of the delinquents were already placed in cells on the first floor. On the second floor, only a couple was stored. Mike realized he was the only one of the group not behind bars as he reached the third floor. The guard next to him halted in front of a cell and pulled out the keys.

Cell 96-E read the etched numerals.

The guard pushed Mike inside none too gently before slamming the door shut.

With a low whine, the teen dragged himself up to his feet. He observed his surroundings. There were two bunk beds on either side, a toilet with no lid, a sink, a small table, and a barred up window over two lockers. Mike took the bunk that looked untouched and sat in it.

The cell was nearly three times smaller than his own room. It was also darker and a bit stuffy. The more he thought about his room, the more he thought about home. It only made him depressed as he curled himself on his new bed.

Outside, he noticed trickles of delinquents entering their cells, drenched in sweat. When a handful made eye contact with Mike, the immediately muttered,

"He's got Vaca's cell."

"A newbie's got Vaca's cell?"

"Aw, he's dead meat!"

"Vaca hates sharing with others."

Mike nearly whimpered before facing his back to the incoming delinquents, trying to mute out their comments. As if he wasn't already dreading about the environment, now he has an inmate who sounds like a bully.

An environment where he felt like everyone was against him…

…this felt too much like his high school.

* * *

><p>Well, I hope it got your attention. Like I said, it's been a couple of years since I've written a story here, so excuse my rusty-ness.<br>I hope you enjoy; please leave a comment!  
>See you next time~<p> 


	2. Enjoy your stay here

I wanna say "thanks" to those who commented; I got more feedback than I expected.  
>Well, here's where things start to get serious; enjoy chapter two. It's longer than the first.<br>I hope you like!  
>Read and review, please!<br>**DISCLAIMER! I DO NOT OWN TOTAL DRAMA! FRESH TV DOES!**

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><p><span><strong>The Juvie King<strong>

**Chapter**** Two**

A loud slam shook Mike out of his reverie. Standing inside the cell with him was a teen about his age. He had a towel hung around his neck and over his slim, but firm, figure. He wasn't grotesquely muscular, but he wasn't scrawny either. He wore a black t-shirt that was ripped at the sleeves, faded blue jean shorts ripped at the knees, and black high tops. A metallic chain necklace dangled around his neck, complimenting the silver earring on his left ear. His hair was dark brown, almost black and loosely tied in a low ponytail.

Mike didn't have time to see his face as the man reached the lockers. One of his bandaged fists punched the left locker, forcing the door open. He hung his towel inside and applied some deodorant. Afterward he removed the adhesive bandages on his hands before rubbing the skin with a lotion.

Mike had a hard time identifying the teen's emotion. His jaw was hard in a frown, but not in an agitated manner. He seemed more nonchalant, just trying to go about his day.

Did he not care about his cell mate? Or is he purposely building up tension before torturing him?

When he rolled his palms in a new adhesive bandage, he met eyes with the occupant. Mike gulped upon the new contact. The stare was intense; he felt like the man's spring-green eyes were slowly burning him from the inside-out. He tried focusing on the growing goatee his cell mate had, but he was afraid if he blinked or move the eyes would shoot lasers.

Should he say "hi"?

The man dropped his gaze to close his locker and then climbed into the top bunk opposite of Mike's. He was half expecting the inmate to pull out a weapon and start threatening him. Luckily he remained on the mattress, his eyes closed and his chest slowly rising and falling.

Would now be the good time to introduce himself? Then again, what if this guy's aggressive if he doesn't get his rest?

There was a loud alarm suddenly. The doors to all the cells swung open.

"Everyone out!" yelled a husky man in uniform. "Hustle, hustle, hustle! Let's move, move, move!"

Mike watched his cellmate groan in frustration before throwing himself off the bunk. Landing in a small squat on the floor, he jogged out with Mike struggling to catch up. All the inmates were rushing out, entering a doorway on the second floor. They all made a sharp left, filling through a doorway labeled "Mess Hall". Everyone circled around the center, facing the blue place-mats set in the space. No one dared spoke as the husky man walked inside.

He had a dark green jacket, black pants, black shoes, and a belt full of the usual official necessities; a flashlight, a battering stick, walkie-talkie, handcuffs, and a pistol. On his brown hat was a badge as gold as the tag on his shirt labeled "Commander".

"If you are the new recruits here, step forward."

Mike and the boys who were in the truck with him obeyed.

"Stand in front of a place-mat. Now, those of you who've met your new roomie, face them."

Sure enough, the man with spring-green eyes faced Mike.

"First of newbies, welcome ya to Canada's top Juvenile Detention Center. You will call me Commander Style."

One of the new recruits snickered.

"Something funny, sir?" Commander Style paced by the recruit.

"I'm sorry, but, 'Style'? Are you for real?" He broke into a bigger fit of laughter.

Style narrowed his eyes at the recruit before laughing as well.

"You're asking if I'm 'for real'? Well, let me answer that question with another question; is this painful?"

The middle-aged man grasped the teen's legs, spinning him around before throwing him against the wall. Inmates maneuvered in time, repressing their laugh when the teen face planted the wall. As he slid down, Style held him against the surface and stretched his arm out. The interloper started to cry out as the commander twisted his arm. Mike grimaced when his ears caught the crackling of the bones.

"I ASKED YOU A QUESTION, SON! IS THIS PAINFUL!?"

"Yes!" yelled the teen.

"'Yes', _WHAT_!?" He twisted the arm more.

"YES THIS IS PAINFUL COMMANDER STYLE, SIR!"

He released the newbie, earning a muffle cry.

"Would anyone else like to share their thoughts before I proceed?"

They immediately shook their heads.

"Good. Now, you may have been the biggest, baddest, toughest of your neighborhood, but guess what? This isn't your neighborhood; this is mine. Not everyone here is going to like you. Heck, you'll be lucky if you make a friend here. My point is if you don't grow some guts, someone will rip yours out. These delinquents in front of you are my top strongest soldiers, also known as my Sluggers. Screw up or try to get out of place and they will knock you to the ground with my permission.

"Number 66483 Bryce Howard,"

One of the buff delinquents cracked his knuckles with a wry smile.

"Number 66489 Johnny Worcark ,"

The young man with a scar over his eye stroke his finger over his neck.

"Number 66501 Bane Garson,"

The delinquent with sleek blonde hair and multiple piercings made faces at his roommate.

"Number 66512 Big Mac,"

This delinquent was the tallest and muscular of the five. His lengthy hair was in dreadlocks that shook as he released an inhuman growl at his cellmates.

"And Number 66522 Carlos Vaca,"

Unlike the rest of the leaders, he didn't make faces or show off his muscles. He actually looked annoyed, but in a serious manner. His arms were behind his back, and his cat-like eyes stared at Mike.

Somehow, this intimidated Mike. Not only because he was sharing a room with him, but because he seemed so confidant in himself, that he didn't need to upstage anyone. Not the commander, not the delinquents, and not Mike.

"If they're nice to you, they'll show you how the center works. In case you think this is a joke or these five aren't so tough, then let me give you a preview of how things are here. Leaders,"

The commander held his right arm up.

"Knock 'em down."

The moment his fingers snapped, the Sluggers charged for their cellmates. Mike barely had time to blink before Carlos swept his feet off the floor. When Mike hit the place-mat, he felt his lower back being pushed into the ground. His chest was forced to face the ceiling, his arms being twisted in the process. When he tried to resist, Carlos tightened the grip on his arms. Mike only gasped in pain, his heart running a marathon.

"These boys will show you what's worse than Death himself. They will hurt you in ways you never thought were possible. They will push you around however they see fit."

From his peripheral vision, Mike could see Big Mac's hands over his cell mate's faces taking turns in punching them against the floor. Everyone else, he couldn't see clearly. All he would hear were screams for mercy, impacts of punches and kicks, and bellows of amusement.

"Wanna avoid this pain? Get on their good side. Wanna get on their good side? Don't be a butt-kisser, or they'll kick yours. Do as they say, no questions asked."

He snapped his fingers. Mike felt relieve and agony swarm his limbs. The victims groaned in pain. Commander Style's laughter roared.

"Enjoy your stay here, _peons_."


	3. U R DED

Sorry about the late update; my laptop shut down and all my process in this story and other ones got deleted. I had to retype my story on my mom's computer.  
>Happy New Year, I hope you enjoy this.<br>Read and Review, please!  
><strong>DISCLAIMER! I DO NOT OWN TOTAL DRAMA! FRESH TV DOES!<strong>

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><p><span><strong>The Juvie King<strong>

**Chapter Three**

Style had released everyone to go to dinner. Lines formed and the Mess Hall had immediately transformed into the atmosphere of an average cafeteria. Slugger gave the Sluggers' victims a quick note their registration numbers and uniforms will be brought to their cells after they eat.

Mike was shocked by the food quality they served. Compared to his school, the meals here looked like they came from a five star hotel. There was meatloaf, spaghetti and meatballs, vegetable casserole, baked potatoes, and even a salad and dessert bar. He served himself the meatloaf, casserole and a tall glass of fruit punch from the drinking fountain.

Seeing the inmates seated made Mike's stomach plummet. Already he could distinguish the tables by cliques; there was the tough-looking, the scary-looking and the super-scary-tough looking. These factors made him feel more left out than before. He walked down the aisle, skimming over the sea of heads in hopes to find an empty table. It wasn't until he reached the last row did he find an unoccupied table. Sure, part of him felt hurt for he always hated the feeling of isolation. But in this case, perhaps it was for the best. Better to make no friends than bullies, right?

_Just don't get into people's business and they'll leave you alone._ He assured himself.

Once seated, he dug into a mouthful of meatloaf. No sudden need to use the restroom or throw up… This food was just as good- if not, better- as it looked! Moaning in pleasure, he couldn't repress the urge to wolf everything as fast as he could. He's never tasted anything like this before. He was enjoying his meal so much, he ignored the whispers and snickers some inmates made when they saw him. That was, until someone waved for his attention.

"Psst! Pssst!"

When Mike finally looked up from his casserole, he could see an inmate hold up his lunch tray. Stained in spaghetti sauce, it read;

**U R DED**

He was at first confused but noticed something. The guy who held up the sign was a Slugger. The people sharing the same table as him were also Sluggers. Except when Mike counted them, one was missing. There was Bryce, Johnny, Bane, Big Mac… Where was Carlos?

As though someone had poured ice on his foot, Mike felt watched. An eerie yet familiar presence radiated nearby. Mike turned to find himself being stared down by sharp, spring-green eyes.

"C-Carlos!" He flinched when he saw the man standing over his right side. "Uh, hey! Need a place to sit? There's plenty of room here."

"You must be very brave, or _muy estupido_, thinking it was alright for you to sit in _my seat_." Mike could hear his fairly deep voice laced with a Mexican accent.

So that's what Bane's sign meant…

"O-Oh! This is your seat? Sorry! I didn't see anyone in it, so I thought-"

"Get out of my seat."

"O-Okay…"

When he tried to get up, Mike's knee rocked the table. Consequently, his glass knocked over and spilled all over Carlos' front. The closest inmates around "Ooh"ed in bewilderness, some of them grinning excitedly. Mike's heart pounded, uncomfortable with the new tension.

"C-Carlos, I'm so sorry! It was an accident, I swear!"

With one of his hands, Carlos grabbed the newbie's next. Mike gasped for air, digging his nails into the Slugger's bandages. He was slowly being lifted into the air and then was thrown ontop of the table. Mike felt the contents of his meal smeared onto the back of his clothes. He could hear laughter from the inmates. Before he had the chance to get up, Carlos kicked him hard enough to slide off the table and collide into the wall. A third of the room was laughing at him. Everyone else was trying to see what happened or simply did not care.

Carlos was just eating his meal as though he did nothing wrong. Flustered, Mike ran out of the Mess Hall.

* * *

><p>"<em>Svetlana doez not like zis place…"<em>

"_Dang it Mike! You could have taken him on! In fact, The Vito coulda given him a good one-two with my eyes closed!"_

" '_Course you would, mate…"_

"_You callin' me a liar, Aussie!?"_

"_If you could have taken him on, why didn't you?"_

"_Mike's gotta learn to be a Real Man and fight his own battles."_

"_What a load of baloney! Back in my day, we didn't need to get into stupid fights to prove who a Real Man! We were fine with taking our clothes off and showing our-!"_

"Wait, so none of you guys are going to help me out?"

"_**They're won't, but **_**I**_** will.**_"

The voices shut up.

"_**Listen to me, Mike. Who was the one who stood up to those senseless weaklings when you were most vulnerable?**_"

"Y-You did…"

"_**So what makes you think I can't do the same for you here?**_"

"W-Well… I wouldn't have been here in the first place if it weren't for you…"

"_**True, but those guys will never bother you again. And how can you get in trouble here? Those guys didn't do anything to that Vaca guy after what he did; why would you be an exception?**_"

This voice may have a point. But what is Carlos didn't get in trouble because he was a Slugger? Was it worth taking the chance?

Mike took a breath. "I'll think about it."

"_**Fine. Don't say I didn't tell you so when they start to eat you alive.**_"

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><p>Believe it or not, jailjuvie food has better quality than school and retirement home food. (Kinda sad, huh?)  
>I hope you liked this; thank you if you review~<br>See you next time~


	4. Not all bad?

So sorry for the late update! I was loaded with work and finishing a portfolio for an art school.  
>Anyway, here we are with chapter four.<br>Enjoy~  
>Read and review, please!<br>**DISCLAIMER! I DO NOT OWN TOTAL DRAMA! FRESH TV DOES!**

* * *

><p><span><strong>The Juvie King<strong>

**Chapter Four**

Mike stayed in the bathroom throughout dinner. He rushed to his cell before inmates recognized him from earlier. Up the stairs and to the third floor he went until he reached Cell 96-E. As Commander Style promised, there was an orange material folded on Mike's bunk. Mike held the material, unveiling its full figure as a jumpsuit. Over its left chest was a white tag with the numbers stitched over;

66532 | 96-E

Was he supposed to wear it now? He saw a majority of the inmates in these, but there were a handful who just wore their regular clothes. Before he opened its zipper, a white slip of paper fell from a pocket and onto the floor. Once unfolded, he read;

_This uniform is to be worn during your school session. Afterward you may take it off for the rest of the day. Please wear at least underwear underneath. Report to the nurse's office on the first floor immediately after receiving your uniform._

Remembering his stained t-shirt, Mike stripped out of it before putting on the jumpsuit. Clutching his shirt in his hand, he got out of his cell. On the way down to the first floor, he tried to bring as little to no attention to him as possible. On the first floor, he skimmed the hall of doors to find the one labeled "Nurse" conveniently across the door labeled "Therapist."

He knocked before stepping inside. The room had light blue walls with white tiles. There were three beds on either side of the walls. Plants were scattered between the beds, giving a slightly welcoming atmosphere. The only tenant that reminded Mike this was juvie was a row of barred up windows across from where he stood.

"Hello?" He called.

"Come in here." Came a voice through a doorway.

Mike entered to see another room. It had steel cabinets, a lifted bed, a sink, a disposal area, and a small desk with a computer. Seated at the desk was a middle-aged woman. She had dirty blonde hair in a loose bun, exposing her soft wrinkles. Her hazel eyes stared at the computer screen through her large, owl-like glasses. She wore a collared blue shirt, black pants, and blue and gray tennis shoes.

"Just sit over there." She pointed at bed, not looking away.

He did as he was told. The nurse picked up a clipboard hanging over the wall before pushing her rolling chair over to Mike. She tilted her head at his number before scribbling it on her clipboard.

"Roll your sleeve up."

She took out a needle and two small tubes.

"What are you going to do?"

"We need a blood sample to identify you in our records."

After disinfecting his forearm, the nurse stuck a needle in and drew out some blood. While filling the second tube, she noticed his neck.

"Oh dear, was somebody choking you?"

He dug his chin in his chest.

"I was hoping you wouldn't be another victim. You seem like such a nice boy."

Mike wasn't sure how to react to her. At first glance he thought she was going to be cold-hearted like everyone else here. For crying out loud, she showed no emotion to him until now!

She patched him after the blood withdrawal and gently lifted his head. The hair on the back of Mike's neck rose as her icicles for fingers stroked the red markings. He had to pinch his leg to refrain from flinching. She rolled her thumbs around, slowly easing the pain from the experience.

"Can you take a deep breath for me?"

He did so, feeling her stethoscope slide across his back and chest.

"Does it hurt to breathe?"

"No, not really."

"Oh, good! But if you feel sick, even with the slightest headache, I want you to come straight to my office, alright?"

He nodded his head.

"May I ask who did this to you?"

"Carlos… Carlos Vaca."

Her eyebrows rose.

"Why?"

"I-I accidentally sat in his seat and made him mad when I spilled my drink on him."

She took a deep sigh.

"Well, I understand if you don't believe me, but I want you to know what he did to you wasn't personal. You see… Oh dear, I shouldn't be telling you this… Well, Carlos has trouble trusting anyone he meets. Anyone who he feels is going to attack him in some way, he retaliates. Although he doesn't show it, it hurts him whenever someone humiliates him. I won't go into detail about it, but… his family wasn't very supportive of him and constantly degraded him. And he ending up in here left them in bad terms. Now he's set on being better than what they have described him."

"So… You're saying he's not all bad?"

She nodded her head. "I think… he just needs a friend. I'm not asking you personally to do this, but I believe if there was someone Carlos can speak his mind to other than the psychiatrist, he wouldn't be so serious. But who knows? No one knows his true personality."

Mike thought this over. Not once did Carlos look like he took pride in his actions. The other Sluggers would brag on about themselves, but not him. He didn't laugh at him when he choked him or kicked him. Everything he did appeared out of defense. He didn't place himself with the Sluggers. Maybe he didn't trust them…. Otherwise, why wasn't he sitting with them during dinner? Maybe he had a cell by himself because he kept pushing everyone away.

But still, what right did he have to attack him like that? He didn't even let him explain himself!

"Oh, I'm sorry for babbling like that, dear! Anyways, you're free to go."

"Uh, actually, Nurse-?"

"Becky. You can call me Nurse Becky, dear."

"Nurse Becky, I was wondering if you can clean this for me?"

He held up the article of clothing to her.

"Oh, of course! No problem! I will bring it up to your cell in the morning."

She placed the shirt in a laundry basket before rolling to Mike with an item in her hand.

"Have a lollipop, dear."

He couldn't help but give her his gap-toothed smile.

"Thanks Nurse Becky."

"You're welcome, dear! Now run along! Curfew's in less than an hour. You can either go back to your cell or visit the Recreation Room."

He bid her goodbye, eating his lollipop.

"Yum, cherry!"

The Recreation Room… all he could do was wonder what people did in there. Where was it again? Third floor; he was confident that's where it was.

Up the stairs and down the hall the misfit went, finally finding the door that read "Recreation Room". Inside he could see inmates talking amongst each other. Some were huddled besides a TV, a few were sitting at desks reading or playing board games. Others were competing at a pool game. Mike noticed some inmates were coming in and out of a door adjacent to the pool table. He entered, unprepared for what he would encounter.

There were weights, treadmills, punching bags, and other gym equipment. Towards the back of the room were three boxing rings. More men were swarmed around the third. Mike stepped closer to see what the commotion was. To his eagerness, it was ultimate kickboxing. Back home, he and his dad would spend afternoons watching these matches together. It would always excite him witnessing the sheer strength, combo moves, and speed the participants would possess. Never did he think he'd be lucky enough to be part of a live match.

Two of the participants battling were on of the Sluggers- "Bryce", Mike recalled- and another inmate. Bryce was on the offense. He launched punches at his adversary before he had a chance to react. The inmate looked fatigued, giving Bryce a reason to smile. Finally he swung his arm hard enough to send his opponent face first into the ground. The bystanders cheered.

"Bryce wins again!" Bane announced as Big Mac dragged the victim out of the ring. "Who else wants to challenge him?"

The inmate Mike recognized as the guy he accidentally rammed into on the ride over climbed into the ring. "I will!"

The blonde Slugger smirked. "What's your name, newbie?"

"Gene,"

"Gene," Bane nodded his head. "Bryce, whaddaya say?"

"Actually, I wanna challenge someone else." The short, bulky newbie said.

Mike felt his palms sweat suddenly when Gene looked towards his direction. This was it. This was how he was going to get back at him for before. Gene raised his finger at him.

"I wanna challenge Carlos."

Mike thought his ears deceived him. Carlos? Where was he?

He turned to see the Slugger doing sit ups while hanging by his knees over one of the vending machines. He didn't flinch when he got called out. He paid no attention to the group.

"Not interested. Besides, it wouldn't be a fair fight."

"Aww, what's the matter? You scared to lose to me, _Carl_?"

Mike felt a new wave of tension suffuse the air once Carlos stopped exercising. The Sluggers snickered while shaking their heads at Gene. Carlos glared at the challenger before back flipping from the machine. His eyes were fixed at the ring, his pacing fast as he stalked over. Mike shrunk back, clearing the path for his cellmate. Carlos snatched Bryce's gloves, slipping them on as he entered the ring.

"Alright then, Carlos versus Gene. One round, no breaks. On my count; one-"

Bane didn't finish his sentence as Gene charged for Carlos. Carlos only shifted to the side, leaving Gene to collide with the barrier. Gene took a second to recover before charging for the Slugger once more. Carlos took this opportunity to grasp Gene in a headlock, ramming his fist into his stomach over and over again. Gene's legs showed signs of attempted resistance, until after the fifth punch. His body suddenly grew limp, and Mike could have sworn he saw Carlos whispering in Gene's ear.

When Gene was pushed away, he appeared to be struggling to balance on his feet. When the newbie broke the distance between them, Carlos performed a round house kick. Gene spun around before slipping to the floor.

"Get up," Carlos ordered.

Gene shook to get on all fours. It was as though tremors were erupting inside his body. Carlos used his foot to kick Gene's upper body so he'd sit up.

"Look at me in the eyes,"

Mike grimaced when he saw Gene's eye purple and swollen like a grapefruit. Carlos leaned in slightly.

"_Never_ call me 'Carl' _ever_ again."

Before Gene could react, Carlos kicked his ribs and ended with his elbow to his face. As Gene doubled over in pain, Carlos marched off, dumping the boxing gloves in Bryce's hold. He didn't go back to the vending machine. He just stormed out the door.

* * *

><p>Yeah, I'll admit the story's a little slow, but it'll only be like that for two-three more chapters until Mal appears; that's when things will <em>really<em> pick up. So, please be patient, bear with me, I just gotta lay out the way Juvie functions before Mal takes control.  
>Thank you to those who review.<br>I'll update this sooner next time!


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